Tirzah Garwood: Beyond Ravilious
Dulwich Picture Gallery, until 26 May
I sometimes think rediscovering woman artists is a bit like archaeology: you have to dig deep and keep an eagle eye open to catch traces of their legacy, dusting them off carefully. The case of Tirzah Garwood is typical in that her reputation has been overshadowed by that of her husband, Eric Ravilious – but he himself largely fell into oblivion in the years after his death in 1942 until the 1970s.
Luckily, Dulwich Picture Gallery has form for revealing the true scope and ambition of artists who might be considered, in traditional terms, to be ‘minor’.
There is no doubting the scope of Garwood’s output: here are wood engravings, collages, models, oil paintings, models and tapestry, all evidence of her distinctive vision and mastery of technique in whichever medium she chose.
Her wood engravings combine precision with a light-hearted wit that makes you smile – one depicting herself meekly following in her imperious aunt’s wake while out shopping as a lively horse prances by is a fine example of her approach. Varied textures, subtle expressions and ambitious perspectives all come to life in these pictures. No wonder her mastery of the wood engraving technique soon began to influence her tutor, Ravilious.
Garwood is equally comfortable in the three-dimensional world of collage and model-making, recreating shops and villas with exquisite attention to detail: tiny scraps of fabric or lace adorning every window, interiors glimpsed through an open doorway as finished as the exteriors, and trim hedges made of corduroy sheltering under the lush foliage of collagraphy trees.
Dulwich Picture Gallery routinely presses the gallery’s dome’s mausoleum into service, often to show films related to the content or the techniques of its latest exhibition. On this occasion, they are featuring a recording of Garwood’s autobiography, read by Tamsin Greig. All the humour evident in her art is captured in her writing: her mother’s distress at the smallness of Garwood’s eyes, her in-laws’ anxiety lest they put a foot wrong at Ravilious and Garwood’s wedding, acutely aware that they are themselves from ‘the wrong side of the tracks’. Her final farewell as he leaves on a mission for the Wartime Artists’ Advisory Committee is unbearably moving, since we know he will never return.
Then we come to the collection of marbled papers: this is astounding. Made by laying papers on tanks of coloured oils suspended in water (fortunately the exhibition contains a better description of the process than this one!), this marbling is a miracle of subtle colour, accurate repeat positioning and creative flair. I’d actually like a wardrobe of silk dresses in all of these patterns, please.
The final room of the exhibition contains oil paintings that Garwood produced in the last year of her life. Ravilious had dismissed oil painting as being like working with toothpaste, but Garwood found it a fruitful medium that accommodated her increasing frailty as cancer took hold.
Despite her illness, she described this period as the happiest of her life, and the image of herself, bedbound, with her second husband Henry Swanzy sitting by her displays all the exuberance of her earlier work: this doll’s house scene has Swanzy haphazardly flung in a chair and left there with his legs in the air, as if by a careless child.
Garwood died at the age of 42, depriving us of many years of her rich and playful output. Nevertheless, this first major exhibition of her work allows us to enjoy the astonishing achievement of her short life.
